


Next

by 0fsilver



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post Season 13, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0fsilver/pseuds/0fsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Chorus he stops calling himself Locus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next

In fact he stops calling himself a name altogether.

You don’t require a name if no one is speaking to you.

He takes Felix’s body with him while the war comes to an end above. He feels very little over the outcome, considering his hands are as weighed in blood as the body in his arms. Felix’s armor clinks and clangs at every step and he holds tight until they reach the sanctuary of their intended escape. A ship immune to Charon’s technology which would have afforded them a silent departure if things ever went wrong.

And things indeed have gone, very wrong.

It takes seven days in open space to feel anything again. Felix’s body is now shut away in the form of ash in their once-comfortable home. A ship which still manages to echo his voice in every creaking panel and flashing light. He sets to work immediately, dissecting and dismantling the flashy armor. Pulling apart hardware Felix wove together himself. Stitched by hand and hours of labor like bringing life into this world. He sets the pieces like breadcrumbs across the ship’s floor and spends two days staring at them in silence.

More than once he looks up at the sound of Felix moving across the cabin. The man yelling from a distant room. The ghost of a hand pinching his shoulder. Weeks go by and the only person he speaks to is the nagging questions and choked screams inside his own head. Felix slithers like a shadow across his thoughts and the man once-known as Locus sleeps on cold metal floors trying to bleed him out.

He removes any mirrors from the ship as they reflect a grinning face which can’t smile anymore. Breaks them and tosses their pieces from an air lock. It’s cleansing in a way, freeing. It starts a manic desire to rid the space of anything which might have pieces of Felix still embedded within. Clothes, knick-knacks, maps, scraps of tools. Projects left unfinished by a dead man all thrown away with a swell of hope that it might release him of the padlock at his throat. He stands in the bare rooms seeking out anything which might have escaped notice, empty save for his own supplies and humble tastes…

And Felix is still there beneath the surface. Like a limb severed and a phantom grip begging to hold on tight.

The quiet gives little reprieve. A vast, cold space only manages to aggravate him. Bring attention to the absence of a partner. He focuses on work instead. Maps the last years of his life and all the horrible things he’s done. Interesting to judge yourself in such fashion. To shuffle through your crimes like playing cards and decide which require forgiveness. In the end his hand is full and a life’s work and a fortune are about to be discarded.

Felix’s armor still lays in pieces over the floors. His equipment cleaned and modified. Kept in perfect working order save for no soldier inside. He wants to keep it that way, keep the shell of his partner in sight out of a creeping fear Felix might gather himself together and return.

Not afraid of the consequences.

But afraid Felix would forgive him.

It’s impossible to tally the number of lives they’ve taken. Too many for redemption. But there were jobs which allowed terrible men like Charon’s Chairman to survive. Tasks accomplished which fed monsters like them until they were strong enough to devour weaker beings. He never felt guilt for these crimes and part of him has to wonder: if it was difficult to feel guilt because Felix was smiling? It made their jobs seem worthwhile, their work almost crucial if it made Felix happy.

His past fits uncomfortable. Like trying to wear a noose around your neck and pretend it’s a scarf. Doesn’t make sense now that his partner isn’t there, wearing the opposite end of the noose and seeming fine.

But it’s too late to admit that he misses Felix. Too late to remember how it felt to hold the alien weapon in his hand—the burning blades only ebbing cold beneath his armor.

He keeps Felix’s ashes in a simple container behind a safe door. His partner was never good with locks, so he hopes that’s enough to keep him away for now. At least while he charts their years together on a physical map of colonies and cities. Notes where he believes he can return balance, and marks names like a death pool of ex employers. He has a plan, but no drive. There’s no sharp grin pushing his shoulder as they survey the terms of the next job. No tempting voice explaining their goals. He feels lost in the vacancy of space around him and lack of eyes trying to pry open his thoughts. Some questions about himself are answered in this moment, his dependency on Felix proven to be more than one-sided. Guilt for more than his own actions builds like acid in the base of his throat.

“ _We need each other.”_  Felix’s voice cracked and desperate will haunt him forever.  
  
His own refusal to answer  _“I know.”_  or  _“I need you.”_ will be buried right alongside Felix.

The work table was built to hold the weight of a full suit of armor, but it worries under the weight of two. Side by side like emptied coffins he lays out their armor. Felix’s in pieces while his own is braced and popped open like a surprise. He’s pulling it apart with frustrated hands. Cracks his nails and reopens old wounds in the frantic motions. He doesn’t feel tired, even after five days of this. Reaching across the void where no hands catch him, no flirting tease or pestering sigh to interrupt his work.

There’s no one left to call him Locus.

Only a ghost in the corner cooing “Partner” like a curse.

It takes him less time than expected to complete the project. Skin stained in both blood and green. Nails bruised and eyes heavy with lack of sleep. His mind is buzzing in the dark when the armor is raised. Set in the fold to be assembled and worn.

It doesn’t look so much like a monstrosity now that it’s united in color. Palms stained black and there’s a green streak beneath his eye. Hard work paying off in a chimera of metal and tricks.

His ship lands at the first destination on the map and he’s suited when the doors open. Ready to start.

The helmet is surprisingly not a strange sensation. It molds to him like a familiar hand over his throat, sight clicks on and the Locus helmet is watching him from the work bench. A shell of his past to be erased.

Probably also what Felix saw before he died.

It’s time to go, he looks back only once with a single thought.

Wondering, if he can possibly wash enough blood from his hands for them both?

 

\---

 

[Follow me on tumblr for more gay space marines and terrible mercs.](mercemonster.tumblr.com)


End file.
